


Shallow

by lost_decade



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Character Study, F/M, M/M, hints of unrequited love, post-Paris 2019, vague talk about threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: “I think your girlfriend wants to sleep with me,” André says at half past three.-Post-Paris E-Prix.





	Shallow

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this in a very emotional, exhausted state on the Eurostar home from Paris and I'm not sure how coherent it is but uhhh, hope you enjoy! Thanks to the usual suspects for feedback and encouragement while I was angsting over this during writing it.
> 
> Mostly inspired by the several ridiculous drunk Instagram stories we were treated to from that night.

It's 1AM and André is exhausted, the adrenaline subsided enough for everything else to start rushing back in, an ache in his shoulder more pronounced now than it was when he first stepped out of the car a few hours earlier. He's had too much caviar and too much wine, they all have really, and now all he wants is to crawl into bed (in what Jean-Éric has affectionately termed _his_ room; a giant Steve McQueen collage on the wall opposite the bed and the decor incredibly similar to the minimalist chic of André's own bedroom in Gordes) and fall asleep.

He studies his reflection in the low lit mirror of the restaurant bathroom, running his fingers over his trimmed-back stubble, checking out the laughter lines creased beside his eyes, unwilling to feel any shame about his vanity. Twenty-nine was a long time ago for André, he's allowed to give a shit about that even though the persistent impression he tries to convey is that of someone who genuinely doesn't give a damn about anything. Which is only partially true, but also he doesn't generally make a habit of getting close to drivers from what he'd probably term _the younger generation_ if he had to, although Jev hardly fits into that bracket anymore. Jev has been in places André can only guess at, darknesses they've touched on and brushed aside, words spoken with humour that hints at a loneliness and self destruction foreign enough to André that he hadn't known how to respond other than to not respond at all, not with words anyway. He's too drunk to be thinking about this now, thoughts scrambled in champagne and the tang of the cigarettes he'd stolen off Carl in exchange for a quick handjob in the thrillingly public locale of the back of the garage earlier that evening, rain pouring from the stormy skies as spunk coated André's fingers. He'd made some crass public relations joke and Carl had smiled and kissed him with such vigour and possession that it made André think this could be something to potentially explore, if Jev wouldn't have a breakdown at the idea of his teammate getting fucked by his manager. André isn't sure, with Jev it could go either way.

They take a cab the short distance home, Lorene and Jev making out like teenagers as Takako tries not to stare, curious or maybe a little embarrassed, he isn't sure which. He likes her decorum, her poise and intelligence and her dedication to the business she's trying to set up in Europe. More than that, he adores how confused their friendship makes Jean-Éric.

He kisses her on both cheeks before she steps out of the cab as it pulls up to her hotel, the French style. Jean-Éric tries to discreetly open one eye to watch them, which is one of the funniest things André has seen all evening. He says so too, planting a soft kiss on Takako's lips that he knows she'll tease him about tomorrow, in the way people who've been friends for ten years do. She squeezes his arm, whispering her congratulations again and then she's gone, chatting with the hotel doorman as he lets her in. The man tips his hat as she walks through into the lobby and André thinks for a second of sheer drunk clarity that if they'd happened to be the type of girls and boys who like other girls and boys then his life might be something entirely different right now.

The driver does something with the satnav and Jev pulls away from Lorene long enough to study André properly, just one in the long list of neverending stares that pass between them. He's really pretty when he's drunk, André thinks to himself, hair grown back enough now that he's a little softer than when it was newly shaven. He's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, the way he absent mindedly does when he's concentrating. It's sweet and André is overcome by a sudden rush of affection for him. _Ask me_ , he thinks. Or maybe he says it aloud because Jev frowns and opens his mouth to speak, flinching suddenly as music blares forth from Lorene's phone at the same time. She turns it around so the three of them can see the YouTube app, subtitles at the bottom of the screen flashing up as the song plays. It's an echo of the restaurant and moments later they're all singing, laughing at their own lack of tune. Lady Gaga sings _I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in_ and Jev holds André's gaze from opposite him, spreading his legs wider. His jeans are fuller than they were earlier and something catches in André's throat, causing him to look away.

 

-

 

“I think your girlfriend wants to sleep with me,” André says at half past three.

Opening the Grey Goose was a monumentally bad idea, on a par with Jev texting several of his friends inviting them over for some kind of impromptu middle of the night housewarming. Most of them have congregated in the living room and André is standing on the balcony looking at the Eiffel Tower as he moves between trying to remember what he was doing the week of his twenty-ninth birthday and wondering whether he should actually have sex with Carl. Carl isn't twenty-nine anymore either.

He isn't sure why he's even thinking about this, and how his thoughts swing from that to Lorene, just that they do and for some unnerving reason she keeps _touching_ him. Has been touching him all week actually, since Jev's birthday, when they'd had far too much champagne for a race week and she'd licked birthday cake off her fingers while staring over the table at him. Then tonight and the mischievous look in her eyes as she’d leant in to smear the cream from her dessert across his cheeks. He has a hunch, of course, but he sure as hell isn't going to say anything about it.

Jev just laughs his stupid honking laugh that André secretly adores, blowing cigarette smoke into the air as he shrugs his shoulders with a louche “probably.”

André smiles. It's not that he has anything to hide, that he needs to be secretive with his friends, with Jev.

“Would you want to?”

Too late, André realises he's given Jev an opening to dig at. He lifts the cigarette from between Jev's fingers, taking a long drag as he tries to order his thoughts.

“Would _you_ want me to?” he asks, genuinely curious. The times he's allowed himself to think of Jev's sexual proclivities he's always imagined his teammate to be fairly straight-laced, that the porn on his phone is all either boringly hetero or else pretty women going down on each other. He passes the cigarette back, trying to ignore the way the feel of Jev's fingers against his own makes his stomach churn and his heart slam a little faster in his chest.

André likes Lorene, quite a lot actually, and it's not as though he's never slept with women, just not for quite some time. She's beautiful and fun, and he'd probably be able to taste and feel Jev throughout every inch of her body. It's enough to make his dick stir in his jeans, the same forbidden pull of arousal as the one time last year that he's never told Jev about, dancing with Lea when she'd stepped back and looked at him with an invitation in her eyes that he'd almost, _almost_ accepted.

Jev glances at him out the corner of his eye, unsurprised, as if he'd expected nothing less than a question answered with another question. “Ask me again when you're on the top step,” he says.

 _Tease,_ André thinks _._ “I will,” he replies. The chatter and music drifting out from inside reminds him how tired he is, how easy it would be to give in and offer up everything of himself to Jean-Eric, how close he'd come to doing so before Lorene walked into their lives.

“You're all smudged,” Jev giggles, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Come here.”

André allows himself to be turned, stands patiently as Jev dabs at the black lines of his painted on moustache, their faces inches apart and Jev's thumbs tracing down André's cheekbones now. André can smell the heat of alcohol and tobacco on Jev's breath and he lets himself wonder just for a moment if he might like to sleep with them both, one time, if the invitation is something genuine rather than Jev petulantly wanting to have it all. He tries to think back to the last time he kissed Jev but can't quite fit the pieces together. Another night like this, after a race somewhere. Santiago last year probably. He closes his eyes, leaning his sweaty forehead against Jev’s, before realising what a bad move that is when his head begins to spin more, the dizzy cycle of having tipped over into full on drunkenness. Jev’s lips are soft in contrast with the metal of the wrought-iron balcony digging into André’s back as he’s pressed against it, making him worry for the pristine tails of his white suit jacket momentarily - not quite enough to push Jean-Éric away.

With a swiftness that belies the amount of spirits he’s drunk, André spins them around, crowding Jev against the railing with the bulk of his body. He figures Jev probably does know he’s single, it’s just easier. He thought it was easier, now he isn’t sure, because kissing Jev wasn’t supposed to be part of the evening. His teammate makes a soft noise, sliding his hands up beneath André’s jacket, trying to pull him even closer than the melded-together they already are, giving André visions of the two of them going headfirst over the balcony in each other’s arms. He sighs into Jean-Éric’s mouth, breaking the kiss. It’s too tempting, the idea of pushing Jev back onto the table and fucking him right here. He wants to know if they’ve done that, him and Lorene, if they’ve christened every room in the apartment yet. His breath is shaky and he’s more than a little aroused as he takes a step back, looking away from Jev’s eyes.

“You never say what you want,” Jev says hoarsely, almost accusatory as he regards André for a moment then turns to look out into the first grey light of dawn rising over the city. They could unravel him if he lets them, both together or separately. He makes a sound of displeasure, opening his mouth to say he might go to bed, that Jev should too, but the sound of a car and raucous voices from the street below give him pause.

“I kicked most of them out,” Lorene says from the doorway out to the balcony. She’s taken her boots off and the lipstick-red YSL dress has slipped down one shoulder a little too much. André considers kissing her just to see if Jev is really as into the idea as he’s purporting to be. She’s got under his skin this week, he realises without being sure entirely what he wants to do about it. He doesn’t miss the way Jev’s face softens into a smile when he looks at her, the light she gives his features. He wonders if she saw them kissing and then realises he’s going to need some more vodka before contemplating that particular idea. He steals a cigarette from the pack on the table, shielding the flame from the early morning breeze as he attempts to light it. Jean-Éric manhandles her into a wobbly hug, brushing his lips against hers and then rubbing his hands down her arms when she shivers with the cold. Something about the simple action picks André’s determined solitude apart and he flinches more than he’d react if Lorene had just pulled up her dress and lay back on the table.

She does acknowledge him then, beckoning him over and plucking the cigarette from between his fingers in the same way André had done with Jev earlier. The three of them share it, even though there’s half a pack left on the table still, an intimacy in their mixed saliva and the fading traces of Lorene’s lipstick. She drapes her arms around them both, like she’s the glue both holding them together and keeping them fractions apart, and he does bend to kiss her then, when Jev has started talking about something that happened in the restaurant which he couldn’t give a fuck about. She tastes soft and alcoholic and very much like Jev.

It’s nice for a moment, nicer when he feels Jev’s fingers running through his hair, caressing the side of his face. Lorene giggles and buries her face against Jev’s shoulder when they part, in what André suspects is faux shyness. He glances at his teammate long enough to gauge his reaction, the heat in Jev’s slightly bloodshot eyes making the breath catch in his throat. André realises it’s more than a decade since anyone made him feel this out of control, thankful when he realises his drink is still on the table and he has an excuse to turn away and take a burning sip.

Jev squeezes his shoulder gently, leans against him with a familiarity that makes André want to fuck a stranger just to feel. Daylight has encroached too much on the party and it’s honestly beyond time for bed. Jev doesn’t go as far as to outright invite André to join them, yet it’s layered in his voice, mirrored in Lorene’s eyes as she hugs him and kisses his lips gently. Jev doesn’t kiss him again and André is glad when they leave him alone, Jev’s laughter echoing through the cavernous rooms as he races Lorene to the bedroom.

The first church bells ring out heralding the morning, and André smiles and downs the remainder of his slightly warm vodka tonic, thinking how next time he should definitely ensure Jev has the correct ingredients for making espresso martinis in his apartment. When he looks up Carl is standing in the doorway watching him, a predatory look in his eyes that speaks of a satisfying, uncomplicated fuck and a warm body to wake up next to. Getting your heart broken is for kids, André decides.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [substitute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050205) by [zeraparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker)




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